When I write, I like to delve deep into the far corners of a story. Sure, the essential details are necessary to set the scene, but what intrigues me are the little personal nuances. Descriptions of places, people, colours, tastes, smells and emotions are what bring a story to life. A storyteller has done their job if the reader can picture what they are saying without seeing a picture.
It is important to document our cultural history because it is the framework upon which our lives are built. It helps us understand others and ourselves.
Ideally, these memories are best shared by the people who lived those experiences. If that is no longer possible, the honour of carrying their story forward is bestowed on people like you and I. If we chose to carry the torch, it could be a rewarding opportunity. Ask questions and show interest, as other generations have a great deal of insight to offer.
Before World War II, two-thirds of Canadians lived on farms. Dancing in barns originated in the 1860s when European peasants began imitating the dances of wealthy landowners.
When people began immigrating to Canada over a century ago, they brought their style of dancing. Dances from different countries were merged to form new ones. An example of this is a dance for four couples performed in a square formation, known as the square dance. It combines steps from countries such as England, France and Ireland. This style is a highly social dance, as you interact with other people, not a single dance partner.
During the summers of the 1920s through the 1950s, rural folk held dances in small country halls, schools and empty barn haylofts.
Dust from the hay that was once stored there hung in the air. It was illuminated by the last rays of sunshine that streamed through the hayloft doors, flung open to let in the fresh air. You could look out and see dusk settling over the fields.
Hayloft in the barn where I grew up.
Local musicians brought guitars, accordions and fiddles and played square dance and country music. A square dance required someone to call out the steps to keep participants in formation. Swing your partner round and round, allemande left, dosido and promenade were a few of the sixty-eight basic calls used. Country dancing consisted of polkas, waltzes and the two-step.
There are not many photographs in existence of early barn dances. I don’t need a picture though, in my imagination a barn dance conjures up images of hard-working country people happily dancing and visiting with their neighbours.
Barn dances were usually held to mark a special occasion such as a wedding, anniversary or a barn raising. They were also held as fundraisers to provide Christmas treat bags for the school children or to help someone down on their luck due to illness, injury or a death. Money was raised through donations, raffling handmade items and selling pies. The reasons for having a barn dance varied, my aunt and uncle had one when they left their unproductive farm behind to work in the city.
Due to transportation by foot, horse or horse and buggy and poor road conditions, it was mainly neighbours who attended these dances. Depending on what the occasion was, children tagged along or stayed home with older siblings.
Not all barns were created equal. Some ageing log structures were less sturdy than the newer ones and swayed back and forth when the dance got going. Barns used for dances usually had sloped stairs with railings leading to the hayloft. This type of stairs was necessary if you were entertaining guests, as the alternative was a ladder going straight up the wall inside the barn to a trap door in the hayloft floor. Gaining access this way meant climbing the ladder and crawling into the hayloft. Getting down was no easy feat either, as you had to turn around at the top and back your way down the ladder.
As kids growing up on the farm in the 1960s and 1970s, we played in the hayloft often, but I never got over the fear of falling through the open trap door or off the wall ladder. On one adventure, my cousin fell coming down the wall ladder and broke his arm when he unceremoniously hit the floor.
The infamous wall ladder.
As night fell, the only light came from the glow of oil lanterns. Eventually more barns had power, making hosting a function easier. Cigarette smoking was done outside to reduce the risk of fire.
1920s style oil lantern
Men wore checkered shirts, and blue jeans and the ladies donned mid-calf length dresses or a blouse and a skirt.
Sandwiches and cakes provided by the host or brought by those in attendance were served for a late lunch. On some occasions ladies would gather together before the dance and make the sandwiches together. On the evening of particularly special events potluck supper’s were held before the dance. Coffee was kept warm in a cream can. Benches for seating were set up around the hayloft perimeter under the slope of the barn’s roof. Bathroom facilities consisted of an outhouse.
There were thousands of stills (distilling apparatus’) in operation on the prairies. It wasn’t uncommon for moonshine, also known as hooch, home-brew or white lightning, to be bootlegged and consumed outside a dance. This potent illicit beverage was discreetly brought in quart sealers or stoneware jugs. It was passed around outside, and interested parties took a swig. Decades later, many unexplained empty jars were found in the rafters of abandoned farm outbuildings.
When the revelry was done, guests trickled off towards home. Morning chore time came early after a night out, especially if you had danced until sunrise. Horses always got you home, even in the dark, as they instinctively knew the way.
My mom’s parents went to barn dances in the 1920s. Grandpa was a square dance caller. Grandma didn't like to dance as she was shy and self-conscious. Grandpa loved to dance and coerced her onto the dance floor. She didn't mind sitting on the sidelines when he was calling dances.
I love the image of my grandparents twirling around a hayloft dance floor. Grandma a petite beauty and Grandpa tall and handsome, looking down at her girlish face tilted upward to meet his gaze.
In the 1960s, square dancing was put out to pasture by popular dance moves like the swing, jitterbug and the twist. Fewer people were living in rural areas by then, and dances were held in town halls. Safety regulations made hosting a barn dance on your property less appealing. Improvements in roads and transportation made it easier to travel farther to gather with people from other districts.
Old barns are landmarks in many communities, and it is sad to see them deteriorate and collapse. There’s something so poignant about a lonely barn standing in a field. A family’s life story was played out on those homesteads. The dance music has stopped, and the only sound now is the whisper of the prairie winds.
A Saturday night barn dance was a big event, and all had a good time. The basic intention of a dance was to bring people together. As I researched and wrote this story, I felt a sense of the anticipation and excitement people felt on those evenings.
Where has that sense of wonder and fun gone? Today many people dread attending social functions. It feels like a chore even though all the amenities are provided. Possibly when we emerge on the other side of the pandemic, we will be more appreciative of activities like dancing. At this time many of us would love to have a barn dance to look forward to.
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